Firsts
by Dani-Ellie03
Summary: Their lives are entwined so tightly that he's a part of her. Always has been, always will be. Spoilers for the whole series.


**Title:** Firsts  
**Summary:** Their lives are entwined so tightly that he's a part of her. Always has been, always will be.  
**Spoilers:** The whole series. If you haven't seen the show in its entirety, read at your own risk.  
**Rating/Warning:** T. Some language, some angst. Some cute stuff, too.  
**Disclaimer: **_Harper's Island_ belongs to CBS. Don't sue me, please! You wouldn't get much.  
**Author's Note:** I didn't want to write _Harper's Island_ fic. I was most emphatically not going to write _Harper's Island_ fic. And then this evil little plotbunny lodged itself in my brain and refused to leave me alone until I indulged it. Feedback is my anti-drug, especially the first time I write in a new fandom! Enjoy!

* * *

Her first memory is actually one of him. She was about three years old, making him almost five. The two of them were eating Popsicles, the perfect treat for such a hot and humid day. Hers was red because red was her favorite and his was blue, not because he liked the way it tasted but because he loved the way it turned his entire mouth blue for hours after he finished it.

They were sitting on the steps outside the general store, waiting patiently for Abby's mom to be finished with her errands. They had begged and pleaded with her to let them go outside. It was stifling inside the store and the Popsicles, purchased from the little freezer in the corner, were melting faster than the children could lick them. Abby's mom had agreed only because the shop was tiny and since the front door was open, she could see them no matter where she was on the inside.

By now Abby couldn't remember what the two of them were discussing. Probably arguing about which Smurf was the coolest or something like that. What kinds of conversations did little kids have with each other? All she remembered was that Shane Pierce had come up behind her from out of nowhere and given her a hard shove. In order to stop herself from tumbling down the wooden stairs, she'd had to let go of the Popsicle. The red treat landed on the step with a splat.

Before her mother could complete the trek out of the store to make sure her baby was okay, before Shane's mother could admonish him for being mean to her, before Abby's tears even had a chance to form in her eyes, Henry handed her his Popsicle. "You can have mine, Abby."

She smiled a thank you and made sure to show him her blue tongue when she was finished. Her tongue was more purple than blue because of licks of the red Popsicle she'd managed to get in before she lost it, but he still laughed just as much as he did when he was looking at his own blue tongue in the mirror.

-----

The first time she understood how much his having to go home every summer truly sucked, she was six. Before then, she'd only had a vague sense of time. She knew it was a long time from Christmas to Christmas, or birthday to birthday, but the times in between were kind of a blur.

She'd been to kindergarten the year before and although school had been fun, she felt like she was in school forever. The summer seemed to pass by so quickly in comparison! Now it was almost time for her to start first grade. Henry was about to start third and he reassured her that first grade wouldn't be much harder than kindergarten. She believed him because, hey, he'd been there and done that already. "I wish you went to my school, Henry," she said, pouting.

"I wish I did, too, Abby," he replied. "Hey, you know what's funny? Next time I see you, you'll already be done with first grade!"

That was the first time she realized just how long September to June was: an entire school year. The tears welled in her eyes, and when Henry saw them, he told her not to worry. He'd send her letters! They were both old enough now and she could write him back!

That entire year, she and Henry traded letters. Sometimes she needed her dad's help when Henry used words she didn't know and sometimes she had a hard time reading his little-boy handwriting. Thinking back on it, she was sure that Mr. and Mrs. Dunn had had to read plenty of her letters out loud to Henry since her handwriting was a lot messier than his. The price of being just that much younger.

Every day after school, she dashed home, sometimes racing Nikki and Jimmy, just to see if another letter had arrived. The days when no letter was waiting for her were disappointing, of course, but the days when her mother met her on the steps with a new envelope from Tacoma were like Christmas.

The letters helped make the year go by somewhat faster and when her mom finally flipped the calendar in the kitchen open to June, Abby grinned to herself. Soon he'd be back and they'd be able to talk for real and not just over paper.

-----

The first thing she thought of when she woke up that morning was that today was Henry's last day on the island. She'd been dreading this day since the Fourth of July when he happened to mention that the fireworks were his favorite part of the summer. When he said that, she'd started thinking about the end of the summer and about him leaving. She didn't dwell on it very long, though, because the fireworks started. She didn't notice at the time how he'd inched closer to her when she brought her hands up to cover her ears at the first blast, but she sometimes wondered if things would have turned out differently if she had.

She'd wanted to make the day special but she also knew, even at that young age, that doing something special would made the day go by faster. The day needed to drag out as long as possible because she simply didn't want him to leave. He was supposed to stay with her, not to have to go back to stupid Tacoma. It wasn't as if she didn't have plenty of other friends on the island, but there was just something about Henry. He was special.

When she heard small feet bounding up the stairs, she knew instantly that it was him. What time was it? If he was outside before she was, he came to the house to get her, and if it was past eight-thirty, her mom would let him go upstairs to wake her. Smiling to herself, she shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

His normal methods of waking her up including flouncing on the bed or tossing a stuffed animal at her or even yelling loudly to startle her, but that day, he simply sat down at the foot of her bed and tentatively called her name. If she hadn't already been awake, there was no way she would have heard the quiet little, "Abby?"

When she sat up and looked at him, there was no mistaking the sadness in his eyes. "That was a really stupid way of waking me up."

"I knew you weren't asleep." He half-heartedly kicked her foot under the covers.

She let out a small breath through her nose. Obviously making the day as normal as possible was going to fall to her. "You so did not, Henry Dunn." After climbing out of bed, she tossed her teddy bear at him, darted out of the room, and giggled when he gave chase.

The only thing she'd done that day to make it less than normal was telling him she wished they could stay together forever.

-----

Oh God, she was going to die. What the hell had she been thinking? She'd had sips of alcohol before, maybe a beer or two, but never anything like this. What the hell had made her think that heading to Thomas Wellington's yacht with the guys and Trish and drinking--actually drinking--was a good idea?

"Abby? You okay?"

Was that Jimmy? Sounded like Jimmy. She couldn't bear the thought of opening her eyes to find out for sure. "Yeah, totally fine," she answered after a brief moment of thought. No need for him to know that she was up shit's creek and couldn't find a paddle if her life depended on it.

"Then why are you sitting there by yourself with your eyes closed?" Yep, definitely Jimmy. When he sat down on the small sofa next to her, it felt like they were in thirty-foot seas.

"Because the room kind of spins around in circles whenever I open them?" Crap on a stick, she hadn't meant to say that aloud. Apparently copious amounts of alcohol made her say whatever was on her mind. At least she didn't sound as completely trashed as she felt. Right?

He let out a nervous chuckle and she knew in an instant what he was thinking. He couldn't very well bring her home in her condition, but he couldn't keep her out long enough for her to sober up, either. Oh, her father was going to hit the _ceiling_. And somehow, she didn't think he'd believe her when she said it was in no way Jimmy's fault. "Stay here, okay?" he whispered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

She gave a weak nod; it wasn't as if she could go anywhere. Walking wasn't such a good idea right now. The first time she got drunk wasn't supposed to be like this, was it? According to her classmates, getting drunk was the most fun a teenager could have, but this was in no way what she would call fun. Her stomach was turning somersaults and all of her muscles were something she could only describe as floppy. Honestly, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in a little ball and go to sleep for about a year.

"You know you're supposed to take it slow your first time out, right?"

At the sound of the gentle voice, she smiled and managed to open her eyes just enough to look up at Henry. He had a tiny, lopsided grin on his face but even she could see the concern flooding his eyes. "I was just trying to keep up with the rest of you."

"No one expected you to keep up," Jimmy said as he eased down on the sofa next to her. Once he settled, she snuggled up against him, rested her head on his shoulder, and shut her eyes again. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and began playing with a lock of her hair. "Sometimes it's okay not to be one of the guys."

"Mm-hmm." Jimmy's voice and the music and the other sounds of the party were already growing softer.

"Whoa, Abby, don't pass out on us yet." Henry again. He took one of her hands and slipped a warm mug into it. "You need to drink some of this."

Oh, _God_. "No more drinking anything."

"It's tea with honey," Jimmy explained. "It'll help a little bit."

Somehow she managed to choke down the entire mug of tea and after the wave of nausea finally subsided, she did feel better. Nowhere near a hundred percent but certainly well enough to make it back home and fall into bed, hopefully without calling too much attention to herself.

When she was sober enough to stand without fear of falling over, her first request was to find Henry. Jimmy walked her out onto the deck and she thanked Henry for making her the tea. She wasn't sure whether it was real or just in her muddled mind, but when she threaded her fingers with Jimmy's, she thought she spied a tinge of jealousy in Henry's smile even as he assured her that it was no problem.

-----

Henry was the first person to come over when the dust settled. He brought over some food, nothing too intricate, really. Just some cold cuts and rolls for sandwiches. Sarah had been the cook in the Mills household. Abby could hold her own in the kitchen when she had to, but he couldn't imagine she'd felt much like preparing meals.

She'd spent the better part of that morning in the bathroom throwing up and when Henry held up the bag of food, it sent her stomach roiling again. Somehow she'd managed to quell the nausea, thank him, and stow the bag in the refrigerator. Then she'd headed back out to the front porch, leaving him to follow behind her with a confused frown on his face.

She didn't know exactly how to explain how uncomfortable she was in her own house. Her dad barely spoke to her and every little thing, from clothes to commercials to certain smells, reminded her of her mother. So she didn't say anything at all, just sat down in the wicker chair and stared out at the driveway.

Henry took a seat in the chair next to hers. "I guess asking how you're doing would be a stupid question," he said softly, taking note of the dark circles under her eyes and the tangles in her hair.

She pulled her feet up onto the chair and hugged her knees to her chest. "No such thing as a stupid question."

"Abby, I'm--"

"Look, can we not do the whole sympathy thing?" She wondered if her low monotone unnerved him as much as it unnerved her. "I just want to not think about it for a while."

"Okay."

If her world wasn't crashing in on her, she would have smiled. She loved that about her friendship with him. She could snap at him like that and he'd just take it in stride, knowing she didn't mean it personally.

"So," he said after a long moment, and it was clear he was struggling for a light topic of conversation, "have you seen _Shrek_ yet?"

She lifted a single eyebrow at him. "Do I look like I want to see _Shrek_?"

"Oh, you should totally see it," he replied, smiling that all-American grin at her. "Trish wanted to see it and I took her, thinking I'd hate it, but it's actually pretty funny." For the next hour, he told her everything he could remember about the movie and even succeeded in making her giggle a time or two. Which, considering the circumstances, was nothing short of a miracle.

-----

The first thing she saw in his face when their eyes met from across the dock was relief, which confused her. Her confusion was forgotten, however, the second he wrapped her in his arms. "I thought you might never get out of that cab!"

Oh, of course. He'd simply been worried about her, hence his relief. "I needed a moment."

She scarcely believed she was going back to that island. Despite her seven years in Los Angeles, Harper's Island was home to her. Even still, she'd sort of been hoping that she'd never have to go back there again. So many memories and too many of them were horrible. Sure, there were people she missed: Nikki, Kelly, Jimmy, even Shane. Sometimes. When she was feeling masochistic. Thinking of them, though, made her think of the island, and thinking of the island made her think of _him_. Of her. Of what _he_ had done to her.

So yeah, Abby was running and she was avoiding and she knew it wasn't healthy, but hey, it seemed to be working out pretty well for her so far.

That is, until the day Henry called to tell her he'd proposed to Trish and she'd accepted. Of course, Abby had been thrilled for the both of them. If anyone deserved lifelong happiness, it was Henry, and she knew he'd find it with Trish. The two of them were so perfect for each other Abby could hardly stand it! But then his voice had grown soft and he'd told her they were having the wedding on the island and he'd understand if she wouldn't be able to make it.

Her instinct was to tell him right then that she couldn't go, but she knew she had to attend. This was Henry! She lived her summers for that kid growing up; he'd been a part of her life literally as long as she could remember.

She thought back to all the middle-of-the-night phone calls he received right after she moved away and even occasionally now, when she awakened in tears from some horrible nightmare or another and needed a friendly voice to remind her that everything was okay. She thought of all those Christmases when her dad's card arrived and it sat on her kitchen table for days before she opened it and she called Henry when she finally did because she was filled with emotions she couldn't name. He'd done so much for her, and she could never have lived with herself if she missed his wedding.

So she'd told him of course she'd be there. The days and weeks leading up to the trip had filled her with such a nervous anticipation that by now, she was ready to explode. His hug made her feel a little better and when Trish welcomed her, she felt calmer still. And yeah, that chug of beer eased her nerves a lot. Joking around with the guys helped, too. Took the edge off. By the time the Tarapunga was ready to shove off, she had a smile on her face. _Hey, _she thought, _maybe this won't be so bad after all._

-----

Her first thought when she woke up in that bed was that it had all been a dream. Just a really intense, really vivid, really horrible nightmare, and the killings hadn't been real at all. No more than a second later, though, she realized that the mattress she was lying on was not one she was used to and the room she was in was unfamiliar to her. Even more disturbingly, she was lying under the covers in her underwear. She didn't generally make a habit of going to bed in her underwear. It was jammie pants and a tank top, thank you very much.

Once the panic pounding in her head subsided to a dull roar, she saw the clothes laid out on the small dresser for her: jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweater. Definitely her style but the fact that she had no idea where the hell she was or where the clothes had come from made her uneasy. _Yeah, that's putting it mildly_, she thought. What in God's name was going on?

Ignoring the clothes for the time being, she opened the dresser drawers. She certainly wasn't about to wear something someone else had picked out for her. But when she discovered the drawers empty, she realized she had no choice. It was either get dressed in the chosen outfit or go downstairs in her underwear. Which, um, no.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears, and the nausea churning in her stomach made her mouth water. What was the last thing she remembered? The Coast Guard chopper somewhere overhead, Henry running after her, telling her Wakefield killed Jimmy. Oh, God, Jimmy. Not Jimmy.

_Focus, Abby_, she thought. What else did she remember? Wakefield had come up behind her and Henry had pushed her out of the way, lunged at Wakefield … and then what? Complete blank.

It wasn't until she was shrugging on the sweater that it finally came back to her: Henry. Wakefield had said his name, looked at him in such a way, and she had known. Henry was Wakefield's little buddy. He'd lied when he said he hadn't seen Sully. He'd lied when he said he'd been looking for Trish. He'd lied about every goddamned thing. She remembered trying to run, trying to get away, but then everything went black.

She sank back down on the bed, her mind reeling. If Henry was the killer, why hadn't he killed her? Why had he brought her here, to this house? She didn't want to go downstairs, but she _needed_ answers. And hey, maybe she'd simply misunderstood! Maybe there was a reasonable explanation for everything.

Maybe, but even as she gingerly made her way down the steps, she didn't really think so.

-----

She spent her first night in the hospital in the emergency room with Jimmy in the next bed. She knew they didn't belong down there anymore, but they would have been housed in different wards and with the way she was clinging to Jimmy, she had a sneaking suspicion that no one dared separate them.

The questions had finally stopped for the night. The doctors and nurses actually kicked the detectives and FBI agents out, telling them they sympathized with them but both Ms. Mills and Mr. Mance needed to rest. Even though it meant lying in a hospital bed with nothing to do but run everything over and over through her head, Abby was grateful when the detectives finally left.

Jimmy had a few broken bones and a couple of bruised ribs in addition to the gashes and burns from the boat explosion. She had no idea what, if anything, Henry had done to him during his time tied up in the shed. As for her, she was dehydrated and malnourished and the doctors were closely monitoring the concussion she'd received from her crack on the head.

She was also in desperate need of some sleep, but she refused to shut her eyes. Every time she did, she saw _him_. She saw the betrayal in his eyes, the shock that she had actually done it. Had actually had it in her not just to kill but to kill him.

She hadn't exactly meant to kill him. He was coming up behind her and she didn't know what he was going to do and the boarding knife was the only thing she had to defend herself and Jimmy. Before she even had the chance to think about it, the knife was in her hand and she was whirling around and the next thing she knew, she felt it go all the way through him. It was a sickening sensation, one that was sure to stay with her for as long as she lived.

But even worse than all that was the fact that his last words were that he loved her. Those words filled her with a bizarre combination of disgust and guilt and pity, and it had made her want to vomit. As a matter of fact, she had--twice--on her trek to the boathouse to radio the Coast Guard. She looked into his eyes the whole time, wanting to turn away, to shut it all out, but afraid to do so. She watched the light go out in his eyes and found herself wondering how he could do the same thing over and over, all for her. That was certainly something that was going to haunt her dreams and even her waking hours for the rest of her life.

Her nurse pulled back the curtain surrounding her stretcher, carrying a small syringe. Abby's breath caught in her throat because she _knew_ what was in that syringe. The same nurse had come over earlier with a similar syringe for Jimmy and he'd been in a deep and restful sleep ever since. "No," she murmured, wanting desperately to struggle but not having the energy.

"Ms. Mills, you need the rest," the nurse replied, not unkindly.

"Please, don't," Abby begged as fresh tears jumped into her eyes. Funny; she'd thought she'd already cried all the tears she had in her.

"You'll feel better after you get some sleep," she promised before inserting the needle into the appropriate spot in Abby's IV line.

But Abby didn't _want_ to sleep. She again murmured, "No," but by then she was already feeling the effects of the medicine.

-----

The Los Angeles sunlight finally pulled Abby from a heavy slumber. She inhaled deeply as she turned over and snuggled under the covers, wishing for just a few more minutes. The sheer brightness made her curious, though, and she opened her eyes just enough to check the time on her bedside clock. What she saw made her sit bolt upright. Eleven a.m.? What the _hell_? She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept in this late.

"Hey, you're finally up," said a soft voice from across the room.

She turned her head and smiled when she saw Jimmy approaching the bed with a small glass of orange juice in his hand.

The decision for him to move in with her in her little studio in the city had been unspoken. He'd simply gone home with her after their release from the hospital and they'd never looked back. She knew they needed a bigger place eventually but for right now, they were okay sharing the tiny space. Truth be told, she needed the closeness the studio provided. "Why'd you let me sleep this late?" she asked almost accusingly as she accepted the glass of juice.

"You looked peaceful," he replied, giving a slight shrug. "How'd you sleep?"

It wasn't until he asked that she realized she hadn't had a nightmare. For the first time in the seven months she'd been home, she'd slept all the way through the night and hadn't woken up screaming once. It was the first night Henry hadn't invaded her dreams. "Really well," she answered after a moment.

"I'm glad." Jimmy gave her a smile and waited until she finished the juice before climbing back into bed with her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gently eased her back down. As she snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his chest and listening to the soft rhythm of his heartbeat mixed with the sounds of his breathing, it suddenly occurred her to that she could get used to this.

_~October 15, 2009_


End file.
